Like I Love You
by Kiara7
Summary: When I tell you I love you, there's always this part of you that never seems to believe me." Fluff. HarryRon One Shot.


**I am not JK Rowling and I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.  I'm just a girl that wants to have fu-un.**

**This is a ramble which I wrote for no reason other than I was insanely bored, got the first line stuck in my head, and decided to post it.  Be forewarned:  ITS FLUFFY.  I know.  Fluff.  Me.  *sigh*  Everyone needs to write a little fluff I suppose.**

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**_Like I Love You_**

                When I tell you that I love you, there's always this part of you that never seems to believe me.  I know it's because this seems surreal to you; you never really believed we could or would happen in the first place.  Perhaps it's also because I took so long in coming to recognize what I felt for you.  Everything with us has always happened so fast from the first day on the train to where we are now.  This was the one thing I needed to take my time on.

                You scared me.  My home environment is a loving one, so that emotion wasn't foreign to me, but to be loved in that way was.  No one has ever looked at me quite the way that you do.  I'll never forget the way you looked the first time you realized you loved me.  I knew even before you told me.

                Suddenly, I was much more to you than your best mate who was good at chess and had a bit of a temper (okay, a lot of a temper).  The transition must have been hell for you, but it wasn't easy for me, either.  I was scared by how that knowledge made me feel.  I was scared that things would never be the same.  Most of all, I was scared that someone would snatch you up while I was trying to figure things out.  I didn't know if I wanted to be the one in your arms, but I knew that I didn't want anyone else there.

                No words will ever tell you just what it is I feel about you.  We both know I've never been the most articulate person, at least not when I don't have the chance to delete my words before they confuse you.  Sometimes I feel guilty.  You never stop saying the nicest things about me - about us - and I can't string together a sentence to save my chocolate frog stash.  Most of the time, when I want to say something, I stumble.  Or I make a joke about it.  That's just the way I am, and I imagine it's one of the things you love about me.  When it comes to us, though, I keep quiet.  I know I don't have a prayer.  There are no words.  Words are for human emotions, and what I feel for you surpasses that.

                My silence should never be taken as a lack of caring.  You mean more to me than I could ever begin to tell you, much less admit to myself.

                A big part of it comes from the society we're surrounded in.  I'm the forgotten Weasley.  You're the golden boy.  How you came into my life, I'll never know.  We have to be meant, because there is no other explanation I'll accept.  You've always made me feel a little more comfortable with who I am, and to be honest, I owe you my life.

                Time after time we've faced various perils together.  I've never intended to let you go in on any of it alone.  As long as I live, you'll never have to.  I won't allow it.  Because of this, you say that I've saved you, and though you never come right out and thank me, I see it in your eyes.  I feel it when you touch me.  You pour you soul into mine without any sense of selfishness, and that astounds me.  Any act of selflessness amazes me, and I know this is the part where you go, "Ron, don't be an idiot.  You aren't selfish.  Shut your mouth."  Truth is, I'm not selfish, but I want to be.  You've kept me from it.  I may have saved your life, but we're even.

                I don't know where all these suicidal people come from, but I know I was among them.  When you talk about giving up, it scares me.  Actually, that's a lie.  The thought of losing you terrifies me to the point where I feel like I can't breathe and just surviving becomes a struggle (and we both know how I feel about not being able to breathe).  Maybe that's how you feel when you read that you could have lost me.

                I hated myself.  You've known that since we first met.  I don't know what it must be like to be you, Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived.  Sometimes I wished I were you.  Being Ron Weasley does not come with rainbows and butterflies.  It's not that I never had what I wanted, but when I younger, I didn't even have what I needed.  At our age (and any age, really), there are people who judge you by your financial standing.  I've always felt inferior because I never could compete.  It's lonely being number six out of seven, publicly poor, and shoved in your shadow.

                Before you get defensive, understand that I know you never wanted me there.  And don't tell me that I haven't been in your shadow, because I have, and it's cold.  I know you don't want all the attention.  I don't blame you.  But as you should know, when the sun can't shine, any growth possible is stunted.  I withered.  I wanted to die.

                Do you remember when you told me you loved me?  I know this a moment we pretend never happened, but I can't figure why.  Is it because this was back before you realized you were bisexual?  Was it because of my reaction?  It was a beautiful moment, you know.  For me just as much as it was for you.

                For two years, you'd been teasing me, claiming that you thought I was sexy and wanted to shag me.  We were best mates.  I loved you like a brother, but I was growing selfish.  Fifth year had started, you were blaming yourself for Cedric's death, and I didn't think anyone would miss me if I was gone.  I spent two hours in front of the mirror, staring at myself, wondering why I was alive.  Just as I decided that the world would be better without me, you came in from a Quidditch practice.  You were still wearing your Quidditch robes,  covered in sweat and dirt, and thoroughly peeved off at me.

                "Where were you?" you asked.

                "Here."

                My answer did not sit well with you.  You turned so red that I thought you were going to pull a page out of my mum's book and beat me over the head with your Firebolt.

                "You were supposed to be at practice.  If we want to win the match next week, we need our Keeper."

                "Sorry."

                You mumbled something under your breath.  I think you were cursing about me, and how sorry wasn't going to win us the Quidditch cup.  Somewhere during your rant, I remember you saying something about it being a mistake that I joined the team.  That was the first time you ever saw me cry.  I don't know why that line got to me.  Maybe it was because I decided I was a complete waste of flesh and oxygen, and you seemed to agree.  I tried not to cry.  I tried like hell to hide it once I couldn't stop the tears.  You saw me anyway, and that was when I knew you loved me.  Not like you loved me before.  I always knew you loved me, but the exact way your face shifted, I could tell you were in love.  The revelation surprised you, too, I think.

                You did what all best friends do when they don't know how to help.  At first, you apologized, rather clumsily.  You walked over and kneeled beside me.  I wanted to laugh at the way your fingers kept twitching, like you wanted to hold me but didn't know how I'd take it.  Eventually, you gave in halfway, and settled for brushing my hair away from my eyes.

                "I'm an idiot, Ron.  You should know not to take me seriously."  I think I laughed, but it only made me feel worse.  My desire to die increased, and I wished it were over right then, like some freak accident would occur and the Whomping Willow smashed in my brains.  I wished I would have died back under the trap door with McGonagall's chess set.  Then, ever so softly in a way that was almost eerie, you said, "I love you."

                I'm sorry that I left.  When you said those words, I knew you meant them, and I knew how you meant them, too.  I didn't want you to love me.  The part of my mind that still believed in the wizarding world told me that you deserved someone better.  I couldn't stay in that room with you.  You shouldn't have loved me, but you did, and I found that I wanted you to love me.  I liked hearing it, not because someone was saying it, but because it was you.  So, of course, I followed instinct.

                What it must have looked like, you confessing and me abandoning, I can't even fathom.  You must have thought I was the most insensitive prick you ever laid eyes on.  Still, those three simple words dug under my skin.  After that, whenever I thought that I should die because no one would miss me anyway, you wormed your way in.

                "I would miss you," you always said.

                It came to be more than that.  I'm still going through that awkward teenager, post adolescent stage, but I can't honestly say that I hate myself.  In fact, these days, I love who I am, and most of that has to do with you.

                You once asked me when it was I came to love you.  That answer is simple enough.  I've always loved you, I just didn't know it.  To answer your question, though, I was in class.  When I realized I loved you - in that way which goes beyond friendship - we were in History of Magic.  I know because I wasn't paying attention and no one yelled at me.  You were sucking on a sugar quill that Hermione gave you to shut you up at breakfast when you accused Seamus of eating your last chocolate frog.  We had just started sixth year, far before I discovered Hermione was harboring feelings for you, and it hit me all at once.  I loved you.

                When I came to love you is one thing.  The better question is how I came to love you.  You're magnetic, Harry.  You draw people in and you hold on without relent, not that we want to escape anyway.  I can spend hours in your presence without ever feeling uncomfortable.  There's a certain charm to you that I adore.

                Roots go all the way back to first year.  My memory is rather shoddy when it comes to things like Charms exams and Potions procedures, but I remember everything about you.  I can still picture the way your hair fell just over your scar when I met you on the train.  I knew your scent long before I knew your taste.

                My devotion to you established the moment we stepped off the train.  At first, I felt like you were my protégé, and it felt good to know something when I usually knew nothing.  You chose me over Malfoy, and it felt damn fine.  By the second week at Hogwarts, I knew we were one of those rare cases that end up friends forever.  I didn't think twice about following you into that lavatory when we locked the troll in with Hermione just like I didn't think twice about following you into Aragog's hollow (though I didn't think much during that episode at all in respect for my mental health).

                One of my biggest faults is that I have a tendency to believe the worst of people.  I set myself up for disappointment.  This relates back to my self esteem issues, but we're passed that part of the program, and there's no need to digress.  I didn't care about myself, so I didn't understand why anyone else would.  That's why I turned on you when you needed me most during that Triwizard Tournament.

                "Harry Potter."

                That's all Dumbledore had to say.  Anyone who looked at your face would have known you hadn't entered the tournament on your own.  I don't think I ever really believed that you entered yourself.  Not at first.  But all I heard about on the way back to the common room was how you must have gotten over the age line, how amazing it was.  That couldn't be the case.  If you had found a way, you would have told me.

                But how did you get in, then?  Someone had to put your name in for it to come out, and who would want you for competition?  The longer I thought about it, the more people talked about how incredible it was, the harder time I had defending you.  Then it hit me.  When I had no other explanation than you must have put your name in yourself, I realized that you didn't need me anymore.  You realized I was insignificant Weasley number seven-hundred and ninety-two.  I always thought you might figure it out.  You aren't as stupid as some people think.  I just didn't expect it to hurt so much.

                We probably discuss this time in our lives more than anything else when we reminisce.  We apologize until we're light headed from a lack of oxygen, desperate to take the full blame for what happened.  In the end, it was both of us.  I thought you abandoned me.  You thought I abandoned you.  We stayed away because we needed each other.

                I still need you.  Even today, two years later, I need you just as much now as I needed you then.  Probably more.  You haunt me in the best way possible.  The real difference is that now I need your arms around me.  I can't sleep unless you're by my side.  The nights are too lonely.  I'm addicted to your body, and though I know that nobody is perfect, you come so close it's frightening.  I don't feel complete unless you're with me.  Unless I'm inside you, or you're inside me, I feel empty.

                You're my temptation.  A sort of delicious that I can't resist.  If I had more willpower, I might be able to rely on myself, but I choose to lay my life in your hands.  In a way, it's a dangerous business, but I can't breathe without you.

                "No one wants a fag for a hero."

                "No one trusts the fate of the wizarding world to a man being shagged up the arse."

                I don't remember who told you those (though I do remember the jokes we made at the colorful wording in the latter).  It's a consensus.  Everything is working against us.  Everybody wants us to fail.  I want to fight.  I know I'm not perfect.  You have your share of faults without a doubt (though I adore every one of them).  It doesn't matter, because together, we're perfect.  That's all we can ever ask for.

**Like it?  Leave a review.  Hate it?  Probably.  Tell me so at angeldlsm00@hotmail.com.  I don't believe in having petty feuds in 'public.'  Want more?  Flatter me.  It's the only thing right now that's making me want to write.**


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